Suddenly the window became clear again, and through the blackness that formed about 366 me I dimly heard a great wail of horror arise from the street below.
There was no other entry save the hasty scrawl in pencil.
THE TOUCH HUMAN
“Good-night.” A lingering of finger tips that touched, as by accident; a bared head; the regular tap of shoes on cement, as a man walked down the path.
“Good-night––and God bless thee,” he repeated softly, tenderly, under his breath, that none but he might hear: words of faith spoken reverently, and by one who believes not in the God known of the herd.
“Good-night––and God bless thee,” whispered the woman slowly; and the south wind, murmuring northward, took the words and carried them gently away as sacred things.
The woman stood thinking, dreaming, her color mounting, her eyes dimming, as she read deep the mystery of her own heart.